Xibalba (The Mayan Priest) Poem by Cory Huennekens

The Mayan priest clasped the bone knife
Between both hands he held the blade high,
Some distance above the ground he stood
The exact height he knew the math of,
He calculated his position accordingly
By ancient celestial math he reckoned,

The bone knife as of yet was dry
His eyes looked and beheld xibalba,
The warm blood stretched below him
He raised his eyes to xibalba also,
Offensive bone broke defensive bone
The warm blood began flowing to cold,

The Mayan priest had reckoned the man made mountain,
According to knowledge he chose its location,
By arcane diction he spilt blood on it,
Upon false celestial decree,

A mans blood cries,
From the soil it raises its voice up,
The Mayan priest knows the calculations,
But he has forgotten the debt, the sum, and the solution.